Mom would save the wrapping paper each year after Christmas. One year my girlfriend printed a design on some butcher paper. After we broke up, it pained me to see that butcher paper year after year; it reminded me of when my heart was hamburger. I finally had to ask Mom to throw it out.
Pickles go on hamburgers. Another Christmas, another girlfriend picked up the Tupperware pickle container by the handle; except the handle was designed to drain the juice so one could remove a pickle easily. A quart of pickle juice christened Mom and Dad’s new carpet.
Another Christmas, another girlfriend thought she had locked the leaf in the dining table. Oops, another Christmas crash. The plates, the serving dishes, and the tea fell on the laps of the people sitting along the west wall.
Tea; adults always had iced tea for every meal, Christmas was no exception. Back in the days when my alcoholic brother and I were at odds, I pranked him big time.
My local liquor store had bottles of my favorite bourbon on sale for the longest time. Not only was it inexpensive ($16.99 for a half gallon), it came with a gimme cap. So, after I finished off a big bottle, I mixed up some tea, making sure it was the same shade of brown as the Kentucky whiskey.
When I gifted the bourbon-colored tea to my brother, he eyes sparkled like a kid in a candy story. Mom shot me a look of anger, a bottle of booze was no gift to give an alcoholic. Jeff took the cap off the bottle, slapped it on his head, and slapped a smile of contentment on his face. I just smiled.
“Hey Jeff,” I asked when it was time to eat, “Can I have a bit of bourbon?” He acquiesced but his look of generosity turned to alarm when I filled up an iced tea glass to the brim.
Mom shot me another evil eye. “It’s all right,” I assured my family, “I’ve been drinking this most all my life,” and took several big swallows.
Jeff’s look of alarm turned to anger as he took a sniff from the bottle. He poured himself a glass of tea but didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything; kind of like little Adam.
It might have been the same holiday season; my nephew was about 18 months, maybe his first memory of a Merry Christmas. Mom was relishing her experience as a new grandmother all the while managing to maintain her traditional role as chief cook and bottle washer; but she couldn’t keep an eye on little Adam all the time.
I saw Adam eyeing the Christmas tree. “Don’t even think about it,” I told him. You may think a toddler wouldn’t understand but my nephew knew what I was talking about. He moved away from the tree.
Next thing I knew, I saw a flash of green, decorated with multi-colored lights, take a fall to the floor. Adam had disregarded my admonition and decided to climb the Christmas tree anyway.
If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? I don’t know, but Adam sure didn’t make a sound. If he did, he knew he would be in trouble for sure. All I saw was little arms and legs sticking through the branches, silently trying to get the Christmas tree off him.
“I know a Christmas tree has a trunk,” I said, “but I didn’t know it had arms and legs.” Of course it does, Mom said. “All trees have limbs.”
“Well, this tree has limbs that are very much alive,” I said. “And it looks like it might be going somewhere.”
When Mom saw what I was talking about, she ran over and removed the tree off poor little Adam, and gave him a Grandmotherly hug.
I just smiled out loud.
That was all thirty-eleven years ago. Other girlfriends have come and gone. My mom and brother have passed away. Little kids have grown up and now have kids of their own. But I think back on those long-ago holidays – and I’m still smiling.
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